


Of Rumours and Pretence

by nanuk_dain



Series: Of Soldiers and Secrets [22]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are always rumours. Or: Speirs and Lipton keep up appearances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Rumours and Pretence

  
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)   


 

The air was cold. Carwood felt it almost unpleasantly sharp in his nose every time he took a breath. The monotone thump of feet on the ground was a welcome routine, the sound of a regular breath next to him was calming in its familiarity.

It was one of the things they hadn't been able to shed after leaving the army. The regular morning run was so much a part of their lives that they had kept up the training once they'd arrived in Huntington. They ran regardless of the weather, just like it had been in the army. It was a need they had to satisfy, and Ron felt it just as much as Carwood. It wasn't easy to break with years of routine, and the army had been their whole life for so long that sometimes Carwood couldn't remember what it had been like before.

The first morning after their arrival, at the crack of dawn, Carwood had found himself on the porch of the boarding house in his PT gear and his paratrooper boots, stretching and warming up. He wasn't really surprised when Ron had shown up only a minute later, dressed in the same PT clothes as Carwood. It was obvious that they both had never considered wearing something that wasn't army issued, and it had made Carwood smile. Some routines were just too deeply ingrained to be changed.

After that they'd taken on running together every morning. They changed the route every time, Ron following Carwood who led them through another part of the town every day. He used their runs to show Ron the area, knowing Ron would remember everything and create a map in his mind to rely on afterwards.

It was a few days after Christmas, on one of their runs, that Ron broke the silence. “I'm going to apply as a fire fighter.”

“Fire fighter?” Carwood repeated in surprise before he could hold it back. Ron didn't reply, just kept up the pace next to him. Carwood concentrated on the calming regularity of his steps and thought about Ron's words. Running was good for thinking, he'd always found, it helped him not to jump to conclusions before he'd examined every angle. It was exactly what he needed right now.

His first response was to convince Ron to choose a less dangerous occupation, but only a moment later he realised that it was his own selfishness demanding that. He knew Ron, understood him in a way he'd never expected, and once he looked at it from his point of view, Carwood could understand Ron's choice. Ron needed excitement, danger and discipline like he needed air to breathe, and if it wasn't the army providing him with it, the fire fighters were a very close match.

A desk job would either slowly drain the life out of him, or it would make him explode with anger and restless energy at some point. That wasn't what Carwood wanted. He didn't want Ron to suppress his nature, he didn't want him to force himself into a safe job that would bore him out of his mind, only to please Carwood. He wanted Ron to be Ron, the unpredictable, volatile, passionate man he'd fallen in love with in Europe, not some kind of conformist with no rough edges.

He wanted Ron to be happy.

“I can see why you would choose to be a fire fighter.” Carwood said after a mile or two, his mind clear from the cold air, the monotony of the run and the steady presence of Ron next to him. “It's a good choice.”

Ron was silent for some time, then he turned to look at Carwood. “I know you'll worry.”

“Of course I will, Ron.” Carwood replied and returned his gaze. “But I think you understand that I always will.”

“Yes, I do.” Ron replied with a little smile and turned back to the road.

***

The new guy was strange.

Edwin Bellman looked at the man with the impassive face and the cool eyes. He was maybe a few years older than Eddie, tall and strong in the way that came from years of regular exercise. He had started on the job just a few days ago, while Eddie had still been on vacation with his family, so he'd only now learned that there was a new guy on his truck.

Rumour had it that he'd just returned from the war, that he'd been a paratrooper. Eddie had heard and read a lot about the paratroopers. They were the best of the best, an article had said, the toughest, most reckless, most dangerous soldiers in the army. He believed every word of it when he looked at the new guy with his incredibly straight posture and this strange aura of authority that surrounded him without him even saying a word. The other guys had told Eddie that the new guy was a quick learner and had shown excellent nerves and tactical skill in a huge fire two days ago. They said he didn't talk much, but they seemed to have accepted him all right, and although the new guy didn't join in the chatter and the laughter around the station, he clearly wasn't an outcast.

Eddie watched him some more, then he decided to see for himself what that guy was like. If they were going to be on the same truck, Eddie wanted to know what kind of man he would have at his back. If he could trust him or if he had to be careful – it could decide whether he survived.

“Hey, new guy.” Eddie said with a grin while walking towards the tall man. “What's your name?”

The new guy looked up, his eyes sweeping over Eddie in a second, and Eddie couldn't help the feeling that he'd just been analysed and categorised. The new guy didn't hesitate, though, just held out his hand. “Ronald Speirs.”

“I'm Eddie Bellman. You're on my truck.” Eddie said and shook the offered hand. It was a strong grip, firm but not crushing, showing strength without trying to oppress.

“You're the one who was on vacation.” Speirs remarked, and it wasn't a question. “What position do you have?”

And just like that, Eddie befriended Speirs. It was remarkably easy to get along with him, although he was quite reserved and didn't speak a lot, especially not about himself. Eddie had once asked him about the war, what he'd done over there in Europe, and Speirs had given him a look that made it unmistakably clear that he should never ask again. He hadn't.

Speirs was one of the fastest learners Eddie had ever come across and his discipline was remarkable. He proved to be one of the most efficient and fearless fire fighters Eddie had ever worked with. Sometimes, Eddie was tempted to call it reckless and insane what Speirs did, but somehow he always managed to come out of his stunts mostly unharmed. Sometimes it was scary how much he seemed to be born for this job.

It didn't surprise Eddie that Speirs made it to the leader of the truck company within the first year. His military background certainly helped a lot, and he effortlessly kept the men in line. They all noted Speirs' outstanding leadership qualities and his willingness to go into every danger he expected his men to face, and it inspired a kind of loyalty that Eddie had rarely seen before. Despite his calm and controlled exterior, Speirs had a temper, and Eddie saw glimpses of it on some occasions when the other guys took their banter too far or when they didn't react fast enough for Speirs' liking. It only came out full force that one time when one of the men got a woman killed in a fire because he hadn't reacted appropriately to get her out. When Speirs confronted Billy and found him to be drunk, Eddie had for the first time been truly and honestly scared of Speirs. Billy quit his job and left the Fire Department a day later.

With the passing of time, Speirs became more sociable. When the men went out for drinks sometimes after their shift, Speirs usually had a girl attached to his arm before they had even finished their first beer. It wasn't as if he was chasing after them, it was more that the ladies just gravitated towards him. Eddie watched and wondered what it was that made the ladies fall for him. Maybe it was that mysterious aura of his. Girls seemed to like that a lot. He couldn't remember ever having seen Speirs with the same woman twice.

“How do you do that?” Eddie asked when the current girl – a cute little redhead – had left for the restroom, not without throwing a teasing smile at Speirs before she'd gone.

“A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Eddie.” Speirs just shrugged casually, never even bothering to look up from his beer.

“That's why you're not married?” Eddie jerked his head at the direction the redhead had disappeared to.

“Some men are just not made for one woman.” Speirs replied with another shrug.

“I can see that.” Eddie snorted and told himself that he wasn't jealous. He had his Mary, and she was a great woman. He didn't need others. “ _You_ seem to be made for many women.”

Again, Speirs just shrugged and took a drink. Eddie took a deep breath and did his best to quell his envy when the curvy redhead came back and sat down next to Speirs with her hand on his arm.

***

There he was again, the nice young man who'd bought the old Bakers' house next door. He just entered the front yard with a pile of books in his arms, a heavy looking bag over his shoulder and the mail in the same hand that held the keys. Mrs. Finnigan watched through her kitchen window as he sat the books down on the balustrade of the porch to unlock the door. When he looked up, he spotted her and gave her a friendly smile and a wave of his now free hand. She returned it and watched him disappear in the house.

Young Mister Lipton was a handsome man, Mrs. Finnigan thought, if you managed to ignore that huge scar that ran across his right cheek. He was tall and strong and well-spoken, a gentleman to the core. He studied at the university, Mrs. Finnigan knew, and he was aiming for an engineering degree. She'd heard that he'd been in the war over in Europe, and she found it showed. Not only in that scar, but also in the way he held himself with discipline and control. A fine young man, she thought, and he was always so nice to help her when she asked him.

There was another man living in the old Bakers' house. He had rented a room from Mister Lipton, and rumour said they'd been in the war together. Mrs. Finnigan had even heard that he'd been a Captain in the army. She could imagine young Mister Speirs in uniform, leading troops of men. He was a quiet man, but there was an atmosphere of authority to him that was very impressive. He was always friendly when she talked to him, polite but reserved. She knew he worked at the Fire Department, and she saw him leave for the night shift from time to time. Once he'd come back with a bandage on his arm, and she'd learned from Mrs. Johnston two houses down the street that he'd sustained severe burns when he'd saved a little girl from a burning house. Mister Speirs never talked about his work, but that didn't mean Mrs. Finnigan didn't have ways to find out anyway.

That was how she'd learned that Mister Speirs had a reputation of being a real ladies' man. He and Mister Lipton were both bachelors, according to the grapevine, but she never saw them bring any women to the house. Which was a good thing, because she wouldn't have liked that kind of business going on in the house right next to hers. She'd said that to her Walter once, and he'd nodded in agreement. They were a decent neighbourhood, after all.

There was this one young woman coming by the house ever so often. She was beautiful, with long blond curls, a charming smile and an infectious laugh. She seemed to know both men rather well, but she never stayed the night. Sometimes she brought a young man with her who bore an undeniable resemblance to young Mister Lipton, although he was quite a bit taller. It was only when Mrs. Finnigan greeted her one day that she found out that the woman was Mister Lipton's sister. A nice young thing, that girl, very friendly and impeccable manners. She'd even brought Mrs. Finnigan a jar of home-made strawberry jam they'd talked about once.

One day, a few months after Mister Lipton had bought the Bakers' house, Mrs. Finnigan had come over to his doorstep and had asked him if he was kind enough to help her cutting the hedge. She'd told him with a wink that her Walter wouldn't admit that he always got a serious backache from it, and Mister Lipton had smiled and come over. It was when he was working with the huge garden clippers on trimming the hedge towards the street that she saw her opportunity to ask him some questions.

“May I ask you something, Mister Lipton?” Mrs. Finnigan said to him when he was kneeling on the front lawn.

“Of course, Mrs. Finnigan.” he replied and smiled at her.

“How can it be that a fine young man like yourself isn't married, Mister Lipton?” It was something she'd wondered for some time now, and the grapevine hadn't been able to give her any answers.

He didn't halt in his work. “I was, Ma'am.”

Oh, that was news. “What happened, my dear?”

He was silent for a moment and when he answered, his voice was quiet. “War happened.”

She couldn't think of anything to say to that, so she went on to the next thing that had sparked her curiosity. “And Mister Speirs?”

“It's the same thing, Ma'am.” Mister Lipton said and went on to cut the side of the hedge that pointed towards the street. His work was meticulous and there was nothing Mrs. Finnigan could find to criticise. He did this far better than her Walter who always made unpleasant dents in the hedge.

“You ought to find a wife, my dear.” Mrs. Finnigan remarked with the goal of finding out if he was interested in her help. She had a lot of friends with nice unmarried daughters.

“It's not that easy, Ma'am. You have to find the one woman who is your match.” He looked up and there was a slight blush on his face. His words made her smile and she nodded at him. It was good to see that there were still men who believed in true love.

“I see you are a romantic, Mister Lipton.”

He shrugged with a slightly embarrassed smile and turned back to the hedge. “War makes you think about what you really want from life, Ma'am. Teaches you not to waste your second chance.”

Mrs. Finnigan didn't know what to say to that, either. It sounded far too wise for such a young man, but she believed he had seen enough to have a right to those words. Such a good man, she thought, and decided that she would help him find the one woman who was his match. She had the connections to present him enough women that he could find what his romantic heart was looking for. She'd always had a soft spot for nice and polite young men, and Mister Lipton had definitely earned the right of her support.

***

Carwood loved their house. It was small but cosy and comfortable. Even more important, it was _theirs_. What he hated, though, was the pretence they had to keep up, the lies they had to tell. There were two fully equipped bedrooms, one that was Carwood's and one that officially was Ron's. It wasn't as if Ron had spent more than one or two nights in it, but they had to keep it up in case anybody ever got curious or visited. Ron's status as Carwood's tenant didn't allow any slip-ups. It could be dangerous, and they both knew it.

More than anything, though, Carwood hated the occasional date he had to go on in order to keep up appearances. Ron was pretty good at upholding his reputation as the ladies' man of the Fire Department, but Carwood wasn't like that. Nobody would believe it if he tried, so he had to take a different road. Meaning that tomorrow, he would have to go out to dinner with the daughter of a friend of Mrs. Finnigan, who'd made it her business to find a wife for him. Carwood sighed at the thought and pushed the beans on his plate from one side to the other.

“What's wrong, Car?” Ron asked and interrupted Carwood's brooding.

Carwood looked up and found a concerned gaze focussed on him. “Mrs. Finnigan got me in her clutches today. Again.”

“Ouch.” Ron made a face to express his pity. He'd once witnessed the old woman forcing another date on Carwood. He'd been standing right next to him when old Mrs. Finnigan had told him about the nice daughter of a good friend from her knitting circle, and she'd been deaf to Carwood's attempts to decline. Once she'd been done with Carwood, she'd turned to Ron, but he'd just given her his best polite smile and had told her that he was sure that she didn't have contact with the kind of woman he usually spent time with. It had taken her a moment to understand, then she'd frowned at him. She'd never approached him with a date proposition again, and Carwood had wished desperately that he could have done the same to get rid of her.

“Ouch, yeah. You could say that.” Carwood replied and let his fork sink down.

“Who did she try to set you up with this time?” Ron asked, more curious than concerned.

“The daughter of a friend of hers. What a surprise. She arranged for a meeting tomorrow evening.” Carwood leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands. He really didn't want to go on that date.

Ron seemed to pick up on his mood. He put down his own fork, reached across the table and wrapped his hand around Carwood's left wrist. “It's only for the evening, Car.”

“I know.” Carwood sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “I just hate those date nights.”

Ron's thumb drew soothing little circles on the skin of Carwood's wrist. “We knew there was no way around it when we decided to come here together.”

“That doesn't make me hate it any less.” Carwood replied and looked up to find Ron's concerned gaze directed at him. “I just do it to keep them from getting suspicious and start talking.”

“People always talk, Car, that's normal.” Ron said with a matter-of-fact kind of voice. “You will never be able to keep them from gossiping, so the only thing that's important is to define _what_ they gossip about.”

Carwood couldn't help a smirk. “You would know that, wouldn't you?”

“I've always excelled at having a reputation based on stories, rumours and exaggeration.” Ron replied with a chuckle, then he became serious again. “It's all about what they think, Car. It's never about the truth.”

“This is different, Ron.” Carwood couldn't help hating this, hating what they had to do in order to keep up appearances. “Back in the army it was about keeping the boys in line, it wasn't about having to worry about your neighbours coming after you if they thought the wrong thing.”

“No, Car, this is no different. As long as they make me into an eternal bachelor with a taste for too many women, I won't interfere.” Ron held Carwood's gaze, his eyes serious. “And as long as they make you into the big romantic who doesn't seem to find his match, you shouldn't interfere either. It's what makes it possible for us to have a life together.”

Carwood nodded slowly. He knew that, knew how important it was for them not to raise any suspicion. It had worked well over the past year, and he didn't doubt it would continue working, but he wished he could stop it. He hated knowing that Ron touched those girls when he was out with his men as much as he hated pretending to be interested in the women Mrs. Finnigan always set him up with.

As if Ron had read his thoughts, his hand came up and touched Carwood's cheek in a gentle caress. “It's not real, Car. Nobody ever saw me kiss one of those many girl. I never once slept with any of them. The only thing that counts is that everybody _believes_ I did. You know better, though.”

“It's not that I'm jealous, Ron.” Carwood replied and settled his hand over Ron's, catching his gaze to make him see the truth in his words. “I just hate the pretence. I hate making these things up.”

“But that's the beauty of the whole thing, Car. We're not making anything up.” Ron pointed out with a satisfied smirk. “We don't _have_ to, they're doing it for us. And by never confirming nor denying anything, they only believe it more.”

Carwood knew that to be true, had seen it work on the men of Easy with surprising efficiency. Until this very day, Ron had never told him what truth there was to the stories that were told about him, and Carwood had never asked. Some things were meant to stay rumours.

Ron got up and rounded the kitchen table until he stood behind Carwood. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around Carwood's shoulders, then Carwood felt his lips against the skin of his neck, slowly wandering from his shoulder up to his ear. Carwood's eyes closed and his head fell to the side to grant Ron better access.

“Forget about it for now and come to bed with me, Car.” Ron murmured into his ear, nipping on his earlobe. “To _our_ bed.”

Carwood smiled and leaned into the touch. Yes, Ron was right. It was _their_ bed. In _their_ room, in _their_ home. And if he had to pretend to go on a date from time to time in order to keep that, then he would.

**Author's Note:**

> Banner by Megan_Moonlight


End file.
